


Nascent

by yuletide_archivist



Category: Queer as Folk (UK)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-16
Updated: 2006-12-16
Packaged: 2018-01-25 06:56:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1637726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vince's small world is about to expand in ways he never could have imagined.  Includes some dialogue from Queer as Folk UK and some situations from the new Doctor Who.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nascent

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to storydivagirl, chopchica and maestro1123 for the beta work.
> 
> Written for Grey Bard

 

 

_Nascent (adj.): 1. beginning to exist_

 

**Prologue**

_14 September 1984_

"You're a fucking poof, Tyler! A queer!"

Vince's head snapped back at the first punch. The side of his face exploded with pain, and he could feel blood trickling from his mouth.

Mickey, Jamie and those other blokes had been on his case for months. Vince had been able to avoid them, for the most part, by always being the first out of school when the bell rang and taking the long way home.

But that day they had been hiding in an alley near his house, the lot of them huddled there waiting for him to walk past. As Vince struck out blindly, his knuckles skating across someone's chin, part of him wondered what about him had those tossers working so hard to make his life miserable.

"Get off me!" he cried, struggling madly, as two of the bigger boys, Finch and Andy, grabbed his arms and held them behind his back. "Get the fuck off me!"

Mickey, the leader, took a step forward, grinning in a way that made Vince sick to his stomach. He looked mad. He was mad, full stop, and Vince couldn't move.

"Tyler the poof. Do you know why you haven't got any friends? It's not your old clothes or the stupid science fiction books you're always reading or your crazy, drunk mum..."

"Watch what you say about her!" Vince cried, kicking a leg out and struggling anew. "I'll kill you for that!"

"No, it's not any of those things," Mickey continued, unbothered by Vince's threats. "It's because every lad in school knows you're imagining him with his kit off!"

The four of them laughed uproariously, like that was the funniest joke they'd ever heard. Vince felt his face flame red as his heart hammered in his chest.

"I'm not like that," he denied. "I'm not!" He twisted his wrists hard around the hands holding him and the bones ground together painfully.

"We're sick of you _looking_ at us, Tyler. It's time you learned a lesson." Slowly, deliberately, Mickey bent down to the asphalt and picked up a large, jagged rock.

Vince's eyes widened and his pulse spiked at the sight of it. Jesus Christ, they really were mad, and he was going to end up dead in an alley off Bertrand Road.

"Hiya!" Everyone froze a moment before Mickey and Jamie spun around. A man stood behind them looking casual, and not like he was interrupting Vince's last living moments. He was older - at least thirty - and pointing a large gun right at them.

All five boys cried out. Finchy and Jamie leapt backwards, cowering behind a bin, while Vince stood frozen, staring at the man in horrified fascination. His day just kept getting better and better, didn't it? What, now he was going to be beaten to death and then robbed after?

Andy let go of Vince's arm, and his newly acquired freedom got him moving again. He pushed away from Andy, but his movement caught the attention of the gunman. Vince flinched when the man looked over at him. But then the strangest thing happened - the man smiled, almost _kindly_.

"Do you want our money?" Mickey cried, sounding like a big girl's blouse now that someone else had the upper hand.

The gunman's gaze swung to him and he lost his smile. "No, I don't want your sodding money. I want you to leave. And if you ever try to touch him again, I'll come back for you."

It took Vince a confused moment to realize that the gunman was talking about him. "Who, me?" he asked.

"You." The other four boys were gaping and shifting their eyes back and forth between Vince and the strange man. "Go on! Fuck off!" the man yelled, and they ran out of the alley.

When they'd turned the corner, he lowered the gun, and Vince took a deep breath. "Thanks for that, I think."

"Yeah, no problem," the man said and idly scratched behind his ear, looking a bit uncomfortable. "Wait, I should have some napkins somewhere, for your lip."

While the man searched his pockets, Vince took the time to examine him. When he wasn't pointing a gun in someone's face, he didn't come off threatening, but there was something vaguely familiar about him.

"Are you a teacher?" Vince asked.

"Uh, something like that. Here you go." He handed Vince a rolled up napkin that Vince pressed to his face.

"Thanks."

"Sure. Listen, don't worry about that lot." The man gestured with his gun down the end of the alley where Mickey and his gang had gone.

"I don't think I'll have to now," Vince said.

"Yeah, no, right. Not them. But I'm talking about all the rest." The man frowned, as if he'd confused himself. God knew he confused Vince enough.

"I don't understand."

The man gave a self-deprecating laugh. "I'm rubbish at this. Forget it. Go on home. And look, don't tell Hazel, yeah? She'll never let you out of the house again."

Vince took a startled step backward. "How do you know..."

"Never mind that," the man said. "Get out of here."

Vince turned away, jogging down the alley, eager to get home. Halfway to the street, though, something made him stop and look back.

"Thanks again," he said.

The man waved a hand at him. "See you later, Vince."

 

**I. The Long Game**

_29 April 2000_

Grabbing the keys to his flat, Vince locked up and headed outside to wait for Hazel. Five minutes later, she came speeding around the corner like a bat out of hell, squealing to a stop in front of Vince. Shaking his head, he got into the car and fastened his seatbelt.

"You're gonna kill someone one of these days, you know," he said.

"Good morning to you too, love," she answered. Her red hair was pulled back into two pigtails, one on each side of her head, her make up was done and she had several colorful bracelets and rings adorning each arm. All in all, much more flash than usual.

"What's this?" he asked. "You usually pick me up in your dressing gown."

"Have to run some errands for Bernie," she said.

Vince grinned in sudden understanding as he remembered their conversation from the night before. "And do any of these errands happen to involve Paul, the chemist?"

"Might do," she said with an answering grin.

He laughed and leaned back against the seat, closing his eyes. "Good luck."

"But enough about that," Hazel said. "Bernie's friend, Neville - you know, the speccy one with the rabbit teeth? - he works at Henrik's, and he says they're looking."

Vince stifled a sigh. They couldn't go a day without rehashing the same tired argument. "Retail, though," he hedged. "And I'd have to start all the way back at the bottom."

"Maybe they have a manager position open. It can't hurt to ask."

As tempting as it was, and as many times as Vince imagined it in his fantasies - moving on, finding something different, something _better_ \- he knew that he'd never actually leave Harlo's. He'd worked there half his life, and he had too much time and effort dedicated to it.

"Better not," he told Hazel.

"But Vince, you _hate_ it there," she said.

"Yeah, but...Henrik's, Harlo's or McDonald's, it's all the same. Might as well stay where I know how everything works."

"Oh, fine, no need to get worked up. It was only a suggestion," she said, letting it drop, much to Vince's relief. "What are your plans for tonight?"

"Phil invited me to go round Via Fossa for a drink with him and Cameron."

Vince hadn't been quick enough on his feet to think of an excuse, and so he'd agreed to it. After the time they'd had last week, Vince couldn't imagine anything he wanted to do less than watch those two bicker for hours.

"You should come," Vince said. "Bring Paul too, I'd like to meet him."

Hazel snorted and glanced at him out of the corner of her eye as she made a sharp right turn. Vince's hands tightened on the seatbelt.

"I guess I don't have to ask how it's going with that, then."

"It's not bad, really," Vince protested. "It's just...weird. They spend all night trying to top each other and they just look like twats in the end."

The truth was that they were both _boring_. If Vince was honest with himself, which he only tended to be after a few pints, he would admit that _he_ was right boring. Still, those nights spent listening to Cameron, the accountant, and Phil, the banker, prattle on about money were enough to put him off both of them.

And they didn't even dance. What kinds of gay men didn't dance?

"Well, just cop off when you get there," Hazel said.

Honestly, only _his_ mother...

"Chance'd be a fine thing," he said. "I'm having Rosalie phone me at ten."

"Vince, you're the only person I know who could have two perfectly decent blokes chasing you and still not get a shag in over a month."

"Mum!"

*

Vince glanced at his watch and saw that it was five to ten. He fished his mobile out of his pocket and placed it on the tabletop in front of him, willing it to ring. Christ, but those two could go at it all night.

"So what are your plans for the weekend, Vince?" Phil asked.

Vince took a long drag from his cigarette and angled his head away, exhaling. "Not much. Coupons go out on Friday, so work should be mad. Otherwise, though, I thought I'd start back on William Hartnell. It's been a while since I've watched the earlier series. I've been stuck on Colin Baker and Sylvester McCoy for ages."

"What do you mean?" Cameron asked.

The way Phil leaned forward was almost gleeful, and Vince had to work not to roll his eyes.

"It's _Doctor Who_ ," Phil said.

"Oh, right," Cameron answered, obviously trying to save face. "William Hartnell. Knew that name sounded familiar."

"Vince is a huge fan," Phil said. "I can't believe he didn't tell you."

They both turned to him and Vince shrugged. "It never came up."

"I watched when I was a kid," Cameron said. "I guess I must have outgrown it. Are you one of those anoraks?"

"A bit, yeah." Vince stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray.

"Huh, never would have pegged you for it," Cameron replied.

"No?" Vince said vaguely.

"You really don't know him at all, do you?" Phil asked, looking smug.

"Well, I haven't had the advantage of years of friendship," Cameron said.

Vince was at the point of suggesting that maybe they should fuck each other instead of wasting time on him, when his mobile rang.

He scooped it up immediately. "Hello?"

"Vince, it's me," Rosalie said.

"Rosalie!" Vince greeted, relief tingeing his voice. "How are you?"

" _I'm_ fine. How's the boys night out?" she asked.

"Oh my _god_!" Vince cried. "That's terrible!" He cast looks at Phil and Cameron that he hoped were full of surprise and concern over what he was hearing. Rosalie giggled on the other end.

He finished up as quickly as he could, and turned back to the table.

"Sorry, I've got to go. Rosalie's mum's in hospital! I'm meeting her there."

Cameron got out of his chair and reached his pocket for his keys. "You don't need to pay for a taxi. I can drive you myself."

"I live right near there," Phil volunteered. "I could do it."

"No, it's okay. Really," Vince said. " _Really_."

 

**II. Love & Monsters**

Vince stood at the entrance of the alley and checked his watch, grimacing when he saw that he still had fifteen minutes before Rosalie would show up. It had gotten colder in the two hours since he had been inside the pub and his light jacket wasn't working as well as it had earlier. He crossed his arms over his chest and when he looked up, his eyes landed on a man standing down the block.

The bloke was _nice_ : curly, black hair, slim body, sharp, dangerous smile. And he was looking, too, right at Vince, his head cocked and his mouth curled. Vince had almost decided to approach him - why not, anyway? Maybe his night could end better than it had started - when his mobile went off.

Rosalie.

"Hiya," he answered.

"Sorry, got delayed," she told him. "Just about to leave now."

"What?" Vince said, pressing his hand over the ear not attached to the phone and turning away from the crowd of people milling about. "Yeah, don't worry about it. I'll get a taxi. Thanks again, but I've gotta run. See you at work tomorrow."

He flipped the phone shut, and when he swung back around, the man was gone. A crash from down the alley got Vince's attention. The dark shape of a man stumbled against a couple of bins and fell to his knees with a loud thump.

"Oi, mate, you all right?" Vince called out.

He received a low, agonized groan in response, and the man still hadn't pulled himself off the ground. Vince took out his mobile phone to in case he had to call the emergency services. He approached the man wearily, not wanting to get thrown up on or attacked if the bloke was on a particularly bad trip.

"Should I call 999?" he asked.

"Help me," the man croaked, his head buried in his hands.

"Do you have any mates around?" The man didn't answer. Vince sighed and reached around him, locking his arms around the bloke's waist and hauling him to his feet. "Come on, get up. Can't lay about here all night."

Once he was standing, Vince balanced him against a building, letting go carefully until he was sure the man could stay up on his own.

"There," Vince said. "Now who do you want me to call for you?"

"I'm hungry," the man replied, his voice low and slurred as he turned around to rest his back on the wall.

"I think you've got better things to worry about at the..." Vince trailed off, eyes widening when he saw his face.

It was a man - or at least it had been a man, but his skin was - like melted wax or a painting left out in the rain. It was sliding right off his face, dripping off of his fingertips and landing in fat clumps at his feet. Left behind was only red, spongy sinew and corded muscle.

"Oh my god!" Vince took a flying leap backwards and slammed against a dustbin in his haste to get away.

"I'm hungry!" it repeated, and it still had a mouth. God, a mouth and two big, lid-less blue eyes staring at Vince with menacing intensity. He was suddenly very sure he didn't want to know what it ate.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, there were two of those _things_ , their hands stretching slowly towards him, palms opened as if to caress his cheek. Vince flinched, keeping as much distance between him and the arms reaching out for him.

"Leave me alone!" he cried, his head pressed hard against the cement wall behind him. All of his attention was on the creatures in front of him, so he wasn't prepared when a third slid a hand into Vince's.

Vince jerked and looked over, only to be surprised anew when, instead of one of the skinless creatures holding him, it was the good looking bloke he had been eyeing earlier. Despite being stuck in this surreal situation, Vince still took a moment to notice how _gorgeous_ the man was, even as he glared at Vince impatiently.

Yanking on Vince's arm, the man shouted, "Run, you stupid twat!"

Gathering his bearings, and with one final, disgusted look at the creatures bearing down on him, Vince let the man drag him to a locked door on the other side of the alley which he quickly opened using some kind of electric lock pick. The man pushed him into a large storage room and turned back towards the door. From out of the waistband of his trousers he pulled a massive gun that he levelled at the door. With his feet planted, gun raised and wearing a dark, inscrutable expression, he looked like an avenging angel.

When the creatures lumbered in after them, the man squeezed off five shots in succession, without so much as flinching.

*

"That didn't kill them, but it should give us some time." He motioned for Vince to follow, as though Vince was likely to go back into the alley if left to his own devices.

Busting through another door landed them behind a packed bar. Vince glanced around at their surroundings. Dante's. The harried bartender turned around when they shoved in and did a double take.

"What the hell are you two doing back here?" he cried, slamming a bottle of gin on the bar top and moving towards them.

Looking unfazed by this new obstacle, the man produced an ID from his back pocket and flashed it at the bartender.

"Peter Butler, Department of Environmental Health. Care to explain the rats running around in your stock room?"

Several people at the bar put down their drinks.

"I..." said the bartender.

"You'll be getting a full report in the post. You can stay open now, but I'll need to have a talk with your owner soon." The man - Peter, was his name really Peter? - didn't wait for a response. He headed out of the bar and Vince hastened to follow.

"Uh, thanks, have a good day!" Vince called, waving a hand over his shoulder to the stricken bartender as he pushed his way through the swarm of people milling about.

*

"What the hell _were_ those things?" Vince demanded once they were outside.

Peter glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. "Clones."

"Clones?" Vince repeated, incredulous. "Clones of _what_?"

"Each other."

"Oh, obviously," Vince replied. "What were they going to do to me?"

The man looked annoyed. "Make you one of them. Are we done with the questions?"

"One more, Peter: what's a public safety inspector doing with a gun?"

He stopped walking and smirked at Vince. "Well, first, I'm not a public safety inspector, and second, my name's not Peter."

 

**III. Dalek**

"Who are you, then?" Vince demanded, trailing behind the once again nameless man. "Tell me what's going on!"

The man made his way towards a Jeep parked down the road, pulling a set of keys out of his pocket and pressing a button to automatically unlock the doors.

"No," Vince said, "you can't leave without explaining what just happened. What about those things - clones or whatever? They're still out there somewhere."

Instead of responding, the man opened the driver's side door and hopped in. Vince made to bang on the glass, but when he looked in, the man was gone. The car was there, with its driver's seat and all that, but it was like the man had disappeared. Vince looked across at the passenger seat and then in the back, but they were also empty.

"What the...?"

The door opened again, and the man's dark-haired head poked out, shocking Vince. "Fuck, get in, would you?"

"But..." Vince started, unable to put a name to what he was seeing.

The man rolled his eyes and gripped Vince by the shirt, hauling him inside. Vince expected to fall into the seat, but instead was he...standing?

Yes, he was. He was _standing_ , and he wasn't inside a car at all. It was a room, a huge room, shiny and golden, with thick wires hanging from the rafters, metal grating mapping the floor, an endless spiral staircase leading somewhere farther down than should be possible, considering the very solid ground Vince was standing on just moments ago and in the middle of it all...in the middle...

Vince spun around and looked out the window. Everything looked the same as it had before he'd stepped into the Jeep. People walked past without even glancing his way, as if nothing was out of the ordinary. Slowly, he turned back around. The man was leaning against the console, his arms crossed loosely over his chest, watching Vince with an amused expression.

"Are you done?" he asked.

*

"But this is a spaceship, isn't it? And you're...fuck, you're an _alien_. And those things out there! They were aliens too, weren't they? Weren't they?" Vince put a hand against his chest. "Oh my god, is it true? Is this a TARDIS?"

The man only raised an eyebrow.

"It is! It's all true! Aliens, Time Lords, space travel," Vince said with dawning comprehension, and then a thought struck him. "Oh my god, _Daleks_!"

*

"Seriously, I mean."

"I'm being serious."

"But what kind of alien name is 'Stuart Jones'?"

"I don't know, Vince," Stuart said, sounding as though his patience was growing thin. "What kind of alien name is 'the Doctor'?"

"Hmm...that's a fair point."

*

"This is _fantastic_ ," Vince gushed, walking along the wall and looking at all of the gadgets and gizmos sticking out.

"It's all right," Stuart said, his eyes tracking Vince's progress.

"And look how _big_ it is. I can't believe we're still standing on Canal Street. It's like a different world. Where do all those corridors go? I bet you could easily have four or five people living in here at the same time." He glanced at Stuart out of the corner of his eye.

"Don't even think about it," Stuart said, giving Vince a knowing look. "I don't take on passengers, ever."

"That's not what I meant," Vince argued, feeling his face heat. "I was just saying."

"Yeah, well, forget it."

"That's not what I meant."

 

**IV. Boom Town**

"They're scavengers. Beings made out of energy. From..." Stuart paused and then shrugged. "...Fucked if I can remember. Anyway, they travel on their own, hopping from one planet to another, sucking up all that world's energy and then moving on. Earth is a perfect fit for them, like a buffet."

"I don't understand."

"God, humans are so fucking dense. Okay: a clone lands in Manchester. It touches the first human it comes in contact with, transferring its energy into that person and sucking out all of that person's energy in return. Then that person becomes a conduit - one of those lovely creatures you saw earlier, an empty shell that only exists to feed the Original clone - and all of the people _he_ touches lose their energy in the same way.

"Imagine the clone is a lamp that's always switched on. What happens after a while? The bulb goes out. So what do you do to fix it? You buy a new bulb. That's what people are to clones: light bulbs. But you lot are tiny, energy-wise. Like feeding a biscuit to a starving man or shagging a librarian. Eventually, the foreign energy given off by all these charged up humans bouncing around and rubbing against each other becomes too much. The whole city explodes. And all that energy, it's like prime rib to a clone. Are you getting it?"

"So you're saying that if the clone doesn't stop, it'll be like a bomb going off in the middle of Manchester?"

"No. I'm saying that if it doesn't stop, a bomb will go off on Earth that's the _size_ of Manchester."

*

"How do we kill it, then?" Vince asked, pacing back and forth over the metal grates on the floor.

"How should I know?" Stuart responded. He was relaxed, leaning back in his chair with his feet crossed on top of the console.

Vince stopped his pacing, thrown. "Well, that's why you're here, isn't it? To stop the clone?"

Stuart snorted and crossed his arms over his chest. "I'm here to find someone to cop off with."

Vince's mouth gaped open. "Tell me you're joking," he said. "Tell me you didn't come all the way to Earth just to have a shag."

"It's been ages since I've hit the twentieth century, and that was way back in the sixties. I'd dropped in for Paul McCartney. Fantastic fuck, cock like a fire hose." Stuart illustrated his point, holding his hands shoulder width apart. "Music was shit, though. I hate the Beatles."

"You've had Paul McCartney?"

"I've had them all, Vince," Stuart said with a smirk.

"What, you mean the whole band?"

"I mean anyone worth having in the whole of time." He spread his arms wide, encompassing everything. "I've had them all."

*

It was mad. This whole day had been completely mad, and if Vince weren't standing inside a bloody TARDIS he wouldn't have believed a second of it.

"So then what are we going to do?"

"I don't know about you," Stuart said, "but I'm leaving."

"What do you mean you're leaving?"

"I never would have come in the first place if I'd known I'd be walking into this mess."

Vince glared at him, horrified. He was shaking, though from fear or anger he couldn't say. "You can't let the whole world die because it interferes with your plans!"

Stuart's feet slammed to the floor, and he was off his chair in an instant. He stalked towards Vince until they were nose to nose, and Vince could read the fury in his eyes.

"That's where you're wrong. I can do whatever the fuck I want. I'm not your precious Doctor. He doesn't exist. He was created by humans desperate to deny the truth."

"And what's that?" Vince asked, his breathing shallow and his palms sweaty.

"That there's no hero watching over you, defending you from any of the million ugly deaths that this universe has lined up. That you lot are on your own, and in the end, we only look out for ourselves. Now get the fuck off my ship."

 

**V. The End of the World**

"I swear to God, I'm telling the truth," Vince said for the fifth time.

He looked from Phil to Cameron to Hazel, silently begging them to believe him. His story sounded mental, but it was also true, and he hadn't expected to be talking in circles for nearly two hours.

"Oh, Vince," Hazel said sadly. "What's gotten into you, love?"

"Mum!" he cried. "Listen to me! I'm not mad and I'm not messing about. Two clones attacked me, and if it weren't for Stuart, I'd be one of them. They're real and they're out there _right now_. For all I know, we've got hours or even minutes before they charge up and everyone dies."

"Fine," Phil said. "Say you're telling the truth and this is really happening. What are we meant to do to stop it?"

Vince fell back onto his couch and put his head in his hands. That's where things got complicated. "I don't know, but we have to do something. We need to at least try!"

Cameron came and sat beside him, placing an arm around his shoulders. "I think you _were_ attacked in that alley, and that you've hit your head. I'm going to call the police."

"No!" Vince said, snatching the mobile out of Cameron's hands. "What would you tell them about the clones? You'd sound crazy!"

"Wouldn't I?" Cameron said, giving him a pointed look. "Anyway, I don't plan on mentioning that. You might have a concussion. You need to see a doctor."

"I'm not going to hospital! I'm not hurt! What can I do to convince you..." Suddenly, a thought struck Vince and he stretched out to grab the remote control from the table. "This _is_ happening, and I can't be the only one who's noticed."

He switched on the telly, and sure enough, there was a special report broadcasting.

 _"-- chwood strongly recommends that all Manchester residents stay inside their homes with doors and windows locked. The virus appears to be highly communicable, and symptoms occur immediately after being touched by one of the affected. Health officials have yet to discover what's causing this horrific epidemic, though they remain optimistic. Until they do, however, the entire city of Manchester is under quarantine._ "

"See?" Vince cried triumphantly. He shut off the telly as a grotesque image of one of the clones, taken with someone's camera phone, came on. "It's like I told you."

"Christ," Hazel whispered, her hand coming up to cover her mouth.

"They said it's a virus," Phil commented.

Vince picked up the remote and chucked it at him, hopping off the couch. Honestly, what more did they _need_?

"Hey! Watch it!" Phil said, lurching to the side and letting the remote crack against the wall.

"Haven't you ever seen a film?" Vince demanded. "They either have no clue what's going on, or else they're covering it up!"

"And of course only you know the truth," Cameron said, "because some gorgeous, mysterious alien saved your life, took you on board his spaceship, told you all about time travel and _energy clones_ and then promptly tossed you out on your ear afterward."

"Gorgeous _and_ mysterious, eh? Vince, I didn't know you cared."

Vince swung around to find Stuart leaning insouciantly against the doorway, smirk in place. His heart skipped a beat in his chest and he felt a wide grin stretch across his face.

*

"Who the hell are you?" Hazel demanded, maneuvering around the coffee table.

"Stuart Jones." Stuart pushed away from the wall and walked into the room, his eyes never leaving Vince's.

"I thought..." Vince started, taking Stuart in as he swaggered towards him. "I mean, you said you wouldn't help. What are you _doing_ here? How did you find me?"

"This is him, is it?" Cameron said, sneering. He stepped in front of Vince and crossed his arms over his chest. "The 'alien'? Who are you, really? Some sort of con man?"

"Cameron!" Vince admonished, more than a bit offended that Cameron thought he was stupid enough to be taken in so easily.

"Believe whatever you want, I don't fucking care." Stuart said. "Who're you?"

"I'm his boyfriend."

"No, you're not!" It wasn't just Vince arguing that point, Phil had chimed in as well.

Cameron turned to face him. "Vince, now's not the time to discuss this."

"Time to discuss what?" Vince said. "You're not my boyfriend. We haven't gone on a date. We haven't had _sex_. What's to talk about?"

"I'm trying to look after you."

"I've been doing all right the past thirty years, thanks," Vince said.

Stuart's voice came from the back of the den. "Oh, what's all this?"

Vince nearly groaned when he realized that Stuart was looking through his video collection.

He pulled one out and waved it at Vince. "I knew it! I can always spot an anorak."

"Shut your face," Vince said, laughing in spite of himself. "Anyway, what happened to every man for himself?"

"Why do you think I'm here? I remembered what I'd be giving up if your planet got destroyed this early. The thirty-second century is lovely."

"So, not a hero, then," Vince said.

"Never." They shared a grin.

"Enough with the chatter!" Hazel shouted, drawing everyone's attention back to her. "Do you know how to kill them, Stuart?"

Stuart waggled his eyebrows at her and dug his hand into the pocket of his trousers, pulling out a small, black device about the size of a credit card. He held it up with two fingers and then flung it at Hazel, who caught it awkwardly around the fag in her hand.

"What is it?" Vince asked, walking over to get a closer look.

"An energy transmitter. Press the button on top and it emits a wavelength at the right frequency to neutralize the Original clone, sapping away its energy and killing it."

"Just had this lying around, did you?" Vince asked, running a finger over the smooth black surface of the device.

"It's a big ship, Vince. You could probably find anything if you looked hard enough."

Vince frowned at the loaded way Stuart said those words. He didn't have much time to think on it, though, because Phil spoke up a second later.

"What are we waiting for? Press the thing and let's get on with it!"

Stuart rolled his eyes and plucked the device from Hazel's open palm. "It's not that easy. It needs to be close to the clone in order to work."

"How are we expected to find it?" Vince asked. "Take out an advert in the Guardian?"

"Or go to St. Mary's Church. That's where it's holed itself up. Are you coming or what?" Stuart asked.

"Of course he's not going," Cameron said.

"The hell I'm not," Vince answered, pushing past Cameron to stand beside Stuart.

"But what could you do to help, Vince?" Cameron persisted. "You work at a supermarket, for Christ's sake! You're not exactly qualified to fight aliens."

"Talk some sense into him, Hazel," Phil said.

Vince turned to Hazel and met her eyes. Phil and Cameron, they were one thing, but Hazel was different - what she thought mattered to him.

"Mum..." he said.

Hazel searched his face for several seconds, and then finding whatever she was looking for, gave a brief nod.

"Go ahead, do what you've got to."

 

**VI. The Satan Pit**

"I suppose we can't walk through the front door," Vince said. He craned his neck and stared up at the once innocuous church. "Well, there has to be a fire escape somewhere. Let's check the back."

As they snuck around the building, Vince could feel himself getting jittery. They were about to save the world, weren't they? Or die horribly at the hands of an energy sucking alien intent on turning Earth into its personal all-you-can-eat buffet. Suddenly, a third option presented itself.

"Hmm...so all these clones, they're giving off energy, yeah? Radiation, like?"

"Yes," Stuart said. He appeared to be only half-listening to Vince as he scanned the building for an alternate entrance.

"If we stand close enough to them, do you think we could get cancer?"

Stuart stopped walking and gave Vince an incredulous look. " _That's_ what you're worried about right now?"

"It just occurred to me, that's all," Vince said defensively, relieved when he spotted the fire escape. "Here it is."

They used the ladder to climb into an open window on the second floor.

"How do we know which clone is the Original, if they all look alike?" Vince whispered as he and Stuart crept inside an office.

"It's been snacking all day, right?" Stuart answered.

"Yeah, so?"

"Turn right," Stuart instructed. "So it'll be fat as fuck."

They walked down a darkened corridor that led to a large balcony overlooking the main cathedral below. The space appeared to be for storage, with folding tables full of candles, crosses and other knick-knacks, as well as stacked stairs, brooms and miscellaneous boxes littering the place.

"Let's get a look down below," Stuart murmured, easily sidestepping the items strewn about the room. Vince was following with far less coordination when the lifeless bodies of three clones emerged out of the shadows and nearly shocked him out of his own skin.

"I'm hungry," they chanted in unison.

Vince didn't think. He threw himself on top of Stuart and crashed them both to the ground as a jolt of energy skimmed right over their heads, charring the wall above them.

"Move!" Stuart cried. He pulled hard on the leg of a table. It fell on its side, providing them a meagre protection behind it. "They're getting stronger."

"Yeah, I don't remember _laser beams_ from last time!" Vince answered. "What do we do?"

"That door," Stuart said, pointing down the corridor. "On three."

"Are you joking? We'll never make it!" Vince cried.

"One, two...three!"

They scrambled to their feet and sprinted to the door, heads ducked. Beams whizzed around them, and Vince felt one singe the top of his head before Stuart got the door opened. They tumbled inside, only to discover it was a pitch-black coat closet. His shoulder rammed into Stuart before he could stop his momentum.

Stuart slammed his hand against the door. "Sodding bastard cunt! We're so fucked!"

"The Original, is it sentient? Like, can it talk and think and that?" Vince asked, a plan beginning to form.

"I know what 'sentient' means, Vince. And yeah, why?"

Vince didn't answer. Instead, he dug a hand inside the pocket of Stuart's jeans, palming the transmitter. He turned it on and then stuffed it in the back pocket of his trousers.

"It won't work," Stuart said. "You have to be close to the Original, and we haven't even found out where it is yet."

"I know," Vince said, as calm as he could. "Just stay here, okay?"

"What do you mean?"

Vince opened the door and jumped out, closing it quickly behind him. He could hear Stuart cursing inside, but ignored it. In front of him, the clones had their hands held out, ready to strike.

Vince turned instinctively away as he shouted, "Take me to your leader!"

*

After a moment, when he wasn't fried to a crisp, he looked up. The clones hadn't changed position, so it might have been wishful thinking that made Vince believe they were listening, but he kept going.

"I'm the...uh...representative for this world, and I demand an audience with your leader! To negotiate...erm...a mutually satisfying treaty of peace." Vince held his breath, waiting for a response. Behind him, Stuart had stopped yelling.

The clones said nothing, but as one they all turned around and walked out of the room.

"Right. I'll...uh...follow you, then."

The Original was instantly recognizable sitting at the front of the chapel. It had the same disturbing, skinless body as the rest of the clones, but was twice the size of any man Vince had ever seen. It looked like Jabba the Hutt crossed with Freddie Krueger, and the air around it crackled with energy. Tiny jolts ran through its whole body, giving it an eerie, almost iridescent glow. Vince's steps faltered, but he forced himself to keep going. He had to get as close to the Original as possible, hopefully before the Original noticed Stuart's device.

"You mentioned a mutually satisfying treaty?" the Original said, its voice a low, inhuman hiss.

"Yes, I did," Vince said, scrambling madly to come up with something, anything, to stall for time as the transmitter worked. "I certainly did. But first, let me introduce myself. I am Vincent Anthony Tyler, son of Hazel Tyler, born to the mighty House of Tyler." He inched closer to the Original. "I've come here on...uh...on the twenty-ninth of April, in the year of our Lord two-thousand in order to secure a treaty with you that ensures the continued safety and prosperity of the humans on planet Earth, which is the place where we currently...stand."

"Yes, and...?" It didn't look like it was suffering any ill effects from the transmitter yet, at least none that Vince could see.

He kept talking, though, for lack of a better plan. "And I've been authorized by....Parliament and....the Queen to begin negotiations. We understand that you're hungry, but here's the thing, mate: Earth's rubbish. We've got pollution and global warming and...and the Conservative Party. It's shit, really. We wondered if you'd considered some of the other, more attractive alternatives. Jupiter's _huge_ , lots of energy to be had there. Very tasty."

"That's your offer? That is nothing!"

"We'll...throw in the moon, free of charge?" Vince asked desperately.

"Take him," the Original said, waving one gelatinous hand in his direction.

"No!" Vince cried.

He scurried backwards, nearly tripping over his own feet in an attempt to get away. The clones loomed in front of him, grinning crazily, their deformed mouths stretched abnormally wide. One of them had its hand pressed close to Vince's temple, and he could feel the energy pulsating out of it, making his head ache.

"You don't want to do that," said a calm voice to Vince's right.

He looked over and saw Stuart standing on one of the pews, looking dangerous and confident all at once.

"Wait!" the Original commanded, and the clones froze. Vince shut his eyes briefly, exhaling a shaky breath. "And why don't I?"

"Because of this." Stuart raised his arm up. Vince had to squint to make out the object in his hand, but once he figured it out, his heart nearly stopped. A pen. Stuart was holding a bloody _pen_ with his thumb pressed down on the end, like the clicker was a detonator.

"Oh my god," Vince whispered.

"What is that device? Explain yourself!" the Original said.

"It's an energy transmitter. If I take my finger off of this button, it will pump out enough neutralizing energy to kill you in an instant. Touch him and I'll do it." His face was impassive, and Vince did his best not to let his own give anything away.

The Original laughed - a growling, ugly sound - and said, "You're bluffing."

"Am I?" Stuart cocked an eyebrow. "Then what are you waiting for?"

"If this human lives, you'll let me finish what I've started? Why?"

"Because this isn't my planet. I'm a traveller, like you. I don't give a toss about this tiny, insignificant world. All I want is Vince."

The Original seemed to mull that over. Vince almost let himself hope, until a large, sickening smile spread across its face.

"Do it slowly. Make the liar watch," it said, obviously relishing the words.

"No!" Vince cried.

Two clones grabbed his arms, and Vince fought hard, kicking his legs out and jerking in their holds, trying to break free.

"Let go of him!" Stuart cried, but he had two clones of his own restraining him.

"He's going to die screaming, be sure of that," the Original said, sounding pleased with itself.

Strong hands pushed Vince down to the ground, and he cried out when his knees banged hard on the cement floor.

A hand reached out for him, and Vince squeezed his eyes shut, preparing for the worst. Long, static silence surrounded him for endless seconds.

Then, abruptly, he was pulled to his feet by his shirt collar. Vince opened his eyes expecting to be greeted by the sickening visage of the clones. Instead, Stuart glared darkly back at him, still clenching the material of Vince's shirt.

"You stupid _bastard_ ," he said, before wrapping his other hand around the back of Vince's neck and crashing their mouths together.

 

**VII. The Doctor Dances**

Shock kept Vince frozen in place for crucial moments before relief and the urgent press of Stuart's lips spurred him into action. He sunk his fingers into Stuart's inky black curls and held on for dear life, matching Stuart's intensity.

Stuart's mouth was wet and _perfect_ , kissing Vince almost brutally and making him really work for it.

His hands slid under the hem of Vince's shirt, fingers kneading into the naked skin of Vince's stomach. Vince groaned and pressed into Stuart's touch.

His shirt was halfway over his head before reality came crashing in.

"Wait, wait," he said, pulling reluctantly away from Stuart's hot mouth. "What about..." Jumping back, Vince almost tripped over his own feet when he saw the clones circling them. He was about to ask Stuart what the hell was going on when he realized...they were completely still.

It looked like they'd been frozen in place mid-movement, their hands still outstretched.

"The transmitter? It worked?" Vince asked.

"Took longer than I would have liked."

"You and me both," Vince said. "Still though. But what about the Origi...Oh my god!"

The Original was evaporating; its rolls of blubbery flesh coalescing and releasing like steam into the air.

"The stolen energy is leaving it and going back where it belongs," Stuart explained.

"You mean back into the people?" Vince looked around at the clones. Already, some of them appeared more human. Clumps of hair and bits of skin were reforming on their bodies, but the patchwork fix-ups made them look even more disgusting than before.

"It'll take a few hours, but they should be good as new. Come on, let's leave the clean up to someone else."

Vince ran a shaking hand over his face. "God, what a day."

*

"Vince! Vince!" Hazel ran full tilt towards them, flinging her arms around Vince and holding him tightly. "I saw on the telly that the clones all over the city had stopped moving. Figured it was you two. Oh, thank the lord!"

Vince tucked his face against his mother's neck, breathing in the familiar scents of Benson's, perfume and hair spray.

"I'm fine," he said. "Everything's fine."

Eventually, she pulled away from him and faced Stuart. They stared at each other a moment before Hazel grabbed Stuart by his ears and planted a kiss right on his mouth.

"Oh my god!" Vince cried.

Stuart placed a hand against the back of her head, returning the kiss until Hazel stepped back. Stuart ran the back of his hand over his mouth while Hazel just looked smug.

"You're a clever little bastard, Stuart Jones," she said. "First thing I thought when I saw you: clever little bastard."

They shared a grin.

"All right," Vince said, uncomfortable, crossing his arms over his chest, "you can stop making eyes at each other now. It's creepy."

*

Hazel insisted that Vince go around her house for a coffee, and that led to him telling her the whole story.

Two hours later, he finally got back to his flat. Cameron and Phil were both gone, and Vince felt a bit guilty that he didn't care.

Walking past the kitchen caused him to do a double take. Stuart's gun was sitting right in the middle of the counter, next to the sugar. But for the life of him, Vince couldn't remember Stuart putting it down when he'd been there.

 

**VIII. The Parting of the Ways**

Taking a deep breath, Vince knocked on a window and tried not to fidget. After several seconds, Stuart opened the door. Vince could see the expansive ship behind him, but the outside still looked like a Jeep. That would never get old.

"What?" Stuart demanded, giving Vince a bored once-over.

To look at him now, no one would have known that earlier that night he had saved the Earth. But then, could anyone tell the same thing about Vince?

"You left this at my flat. Figured you'd want it back." He held out Stuart's gun, carefully palming the handle and trying not to press anything important.

Stuart took the gun and stretched back to place it somewhere inside the ship. His red jumper rucked up a bit at the bottom, revealing a slice of smooth, golden skin. Vince's eyes strayed there automatically, and he clenched his hands at his sides, tempering the urge to reach out and touch. When his eyes moved back up, Stuart was giving him a knowing look that made Vince's face flush.

Stuart took a step back, and Vince did the same, warily.

"Well, are you coming in or not?" Stuart asked.

Vince jumped inside before he could change his mind. The ship was as magnificent as he remembered it. He could see passageways and corridors lining the other end of the ship, and it took everything he had not to give in and explore. Instead, he gravitated towards the main console, so familiar from hours devouring episode after episode of the Doctor.

The metal was cool beneath his hand, and his fingers trailed along the complicated odds and ends.

"It really is beautiful," he said, feeling his cock give a twitch in his jeans. Touching the TARDIS, though. It was enough to get anyone going. "And I suppose yours doesn't get the date wrong or take you to Antarctica instead of Australia like the Doctor's."

"Of course not." Stuart's tone was offended, but he was smiling faintly, watching Vince fiddle around with the air of a proud parent. "He's top of the line."

"He?" Vince asked, raising an eyebrow.

"What, did you think I would spend all my time stuck inside a _female_?"

"Not when you put it like that," Vince said with a laugh. He hit a button and the light above him flashed, making him pull back. "Sorry!"

"It's all right," Stuart said.

Suddenly he was behind Vince, one hand cupping his hip and the other reaching around Vince's body to turn off the lights. The hard line of him was pressed against Vince's back, and Vince's half-hard erection pushed into the console. His eyes slipped shut.

"You can touch anything you want," Stuart murmured in his ear. "Just try not to pull on the knobs. I know that might be hard for you."

"Fuck off," Vince said.

As quickly as he had approached, Stuart moved away, stepping out of Vince's space with a smirk Vince could hear in his voice.

"Unless you want to end up in Timbuktu during the Stone Age or something."

Personally, Vince thought that sounded brilliant, but he couldn't tell Stuart that. He took his hand off of the console. "Don't think so. Better leave the steering to you."

*

Vince's head slammed against the wall, but he barely felt it.

"Fuck," he gasped as Stuart's hands undid his trousers. "Got a bed somewhere?"

"So high maintenance," Stuart said, grinning, and gestured down the corridor closest to them. "Second door on the right."

"Well, come on then."

Vince didn't know what he expected an alien's bedroom to look like, but something out of a home decorating magazine wasn't it. The room was clean and smartly decorated, with navy blue sheets that felt great against Vince's bare skin.

"I was looking," Vince said when Stuart pushed him down. He tried to sound put out, but couldn't quite manage it with Stuart straddling him.

"Later," Stuart replied, bending to lick a line along Vince's throat.

Vince stopped himself from pointing out that there wouldn't be a later, that this was his only time to look his fill. He pushed those thoughts away and focused on the firm muscles of Stuart's back and the way they flexed and shifted as he moved down Vince's body.

One sure hand wrapped around Vince's cock and stroked him in a tight, fast rhythm that made Vince squeeze his eyes shut and bite his lip. It lasted long moments, and when Vince felt himself speeding inexorably toward the end, he forced his eyes open.

"How do you want me?"

"Turn over," Stuart said.

Vince shifted, his cock giving a sharp twitch in anticipation. He tucked in his knees and let his elbows bear his weight, the shallow pant of his breathing ruffling the material of the pillowcase under him.

Stuart palmed his arse with both hands, carefully spreading the cheeks. When the warm, almost ticklish tip of a tongue fluttered over his opening, Vince rested his forehead against the pillow and hung on.

The rest was lost in a cascade of sensations: the slow, deliberate curl of Stuart's tongue inside him, the muffled, wet sound of it; the steady pressure of Stuart's cock easing into him, a merciless tease; sweat slicking Stuart's chest against his back and a smile pressed into his skin; the low, insistent burn of straining muscles as Vince matched Stuart's frenzied thrusts.

But it had been over a month since he'd fucked anyone, so when Stuart's hand wrapped around his cock and began to stroke, Vince knew it was the end. Ignoring the needy noises and choked words escaping his throat - he'd take the time to be embarrassed when he was done getting fucked within an inch of his life - Vince felt his back bow as he came hard, bucking wildly up   
+into Stuart's hand and then back onto his cock.

Stuart milked his orgasm out of him with a knowing grip, stopping just before it became painful. Then he settled his wet hand on the small of Vince's back for leverage.

"Fuck, Vince," he gasped, his rhythm stuttering once before he followed Vince over the edge.

*

"Looks like you got the shag you came here for after all," Vince said later, pulling the blankets tighter around himself.

Stuart turned over to face him, lips twisting in a mirthless grin. "No, I got you."

*

"So, you're off?" Vince tugged on his shirt and tried to look casual.

Stuart watched him closely for a moment, his scrutiny ratcheting up Vince's discomfort to dizzying heights. "Some loose ends to tie up," he answered finally, "but I should be done by morning. I'd forgotten how boring twenty-first century England is. In the thirty-second, people have sex in public. Literally, beds lining the streets. Constant orgies. It's fantastic."

"Blimey," Vince said, grinning weakly. "Yeah, sounds great. Good luck then."

"Maybe _you_ need luck to cop off, Vince, but I don't."

"Right." A long silence stretched around them until Vince said, "We've had a laugh, though."

"And the rest," Stuart agreed with an ironic grin that Vince matched before the awkwardness reasserted itself.

"Well, anyway. I've got work in the morning," Vince said.

A look of surprise flickered over Stuart's face, before mutating into vague disgust. "Of course you do." He walked to the door and threw it open. "Bye."

Vince shuffled closer, his hands stuffed in his pockets, as he tried to make sense of Stuart's sudden about-face.

"Wha...?"

"I can go anywhere and do anything, so why am I wasting my time on _you_?"

Stuart's eyes were hard, focused somewhere above Vince's shoulder, and his words hit like a punch to the face.

Vince couldn't think of a response. Even after Stuart's brush off, he couldn't find words to articulate to him his feelings of gratitude and, more deeply, of regret. Instead, what he said was, "See you around."

"No, you won't." And then the door slammed shut with Vince on the other side, alone.

 

**IX. Army of Ghosts**

At eight am sharp, Vince was outside waiting for Hazel to pick him. His shirt was ironed, his hair was combed and in his hand was the inventory list that he had to turn in that day at work.

Hazel's car swung around the corner onto his block a moment later.

"So this is it?" she asked when he sat down. "You're just going to work now, business as usual?"

"Yeah," Vince agreed, staring out of the open passenger side window. "Business as usual."

There was a moment of silence, and then he felt a slap across the back of his head.

"What's that in aid of?" he cried, turning from the window to face Hazel.

"Vince Tyler, you're going to be the death of me. I mean it. In the end, the fags and vodka won't do it; it'll be death by idiot son. My tombstone will read: _'Hazel Tyler - Beloved Mother, and more's the pity.'_ "

Vince didn't bother pretending not to understand. "He didn't want me with him! Made that _very_ clear."

"Did he?" Hazel asked. "Oh, I'm sorry. Never mind then."

She sped down the street with her eyes on the road, appearing to have dropped the subject.

Vince watched her suspiciously. "Where are we going?"

"Where d'you think? I'm taking you to work."

*

They pulled into the Harlo's parking lot ten minutes later, and Hazel stopped in front of the side entrance, the way she always did. Vince glanced uncertainly at her.

"Well..." he started.

"One thing, before you go," Hazel said, and he quieted, having expected the interruption the whole way.

"Yeah?"

"Look out there," Hazel said, gesturing at their surroundings. "What do you see?"

Vince's eyebrows rose, and he tried to find her angle. "Harlo's," he said finally, slowly.

"You want to know what I see?" She turned to him, the expression on her face open and sad all at once. "I see the rest of your life."

Hazel fumbled around in her purse until she came up with a half-full pack of Benson's. She lit one and took a long drag while Vince sat frozen in his seat, waiting.

After a moment, she continued. "The thought of you out there with Stuart - traveling around who knows where doing who knows what - it _terrifies_ me. But d'you know what scares me even more than that? The thought of you, in ten years time, still right here. Deputy Manager at bloody Harlo's. Working and going out for a drink and coming round mine for Sunday tea. Can you imagine it?"

Vince clutched at his seatbelt until his knuckles turned white. Could he imagine it? Of course he could; he had nightmares that went exactly the same way. They were tedious and boring and kept him awake at night, covered in a film of cold, damp sweat.

"He doesn't want me." Somehow, though, it sounded flimsy when he said it out loud, like an excuse.

"Oh, fuck off, Vince," Hazel said. She flicked her fag out of her open window. "Go on, get out then. Milk to be shelved and apples to be sorted."

He met her challenging stare and then looked up at Harlo's, looming in front of him like a jail sentence, like the spectre of the rest of his life, and made a decision.

"Drive," he said.

Hazel didn't need to be told twice. She gunned the engine and took off so fast that Vince's head slammed against the headrest.

When they turned out of the parking lot and away from the store, laughter bubbled up in Vince's throat, hysterical and joyous. He felt lighter than he could ever remember feeling, surer than he could ever remember being.

With deep satisfaction, he stuck his arm out the window and dropped the inventory sheets, watching them blow away and scatter with the wind.

*

Hazel finally slowed the car to a stop a block from where Stuart had parked. Vince turned to her in confusion.

"What?" he asked.

She stared straight ahead, head held high and hands clenching the steering wheel tightly. "This is it for me. You have to go the rest on your own."

A wave of affection lanced through Vince so strongly it hurt, and he pulled her into a hug. Her arms wove around his back and he could feel her fingernails, short with their chipped red polish, digging into his skin through his shirt as she held on.

"Thank you, mum," he whispered and kissed the top of her head before moving away. His shoulder felt suspiciously damp, but then his vision was blurring, so he didn't mention it.

"I'll come back," he promised.

"Too fucking right you will," she said, taking a deep breath and regaining her composure. "Now out you go, on to your great adventure."

He opened the car door, one foot out, and then looked back at her. "Don't smoke more than a pack a day. And don't let Bernie con you out of your pay packet; he'll only spend it on the horses."

Hazel rolled her eyes. "Get out of this car, Vincent Tyler, before I throw you out!"

Vince grinned at her. "Bye!" he said. Then he ran.

 

**X. Tooth and Claw**

Rounding the corner, he found Stuart standing in front of his Jeep - TARDIS, it was a bloody _TARDIS_ \- tossing the keys into the air.

"Nice try, Vince. You're not coming," he said without looking at him.

"I'll do what I like," Vince answered. He jogged the last few metres to stand in front of him.

"I travel on my own," Stuart said.

"Must get lonely out there sometimes, all by yourself," Vince commented idly.

"Never," Stuart said, but Vince could read the lie of it in Stuart's eyes, in the practiced disinterest of his posture.

"I've been thinking about this for years, though," Vince continued, trying not to let Stuart's denial stop him. He was there, after all, wasn't he? He had waited. That had to have counted for something. "Press the button, dematerialize, step out, new planet."

Stuart smirked at him. "Says the supermarket boy."

"I quit," Vince told him. "Didn't do it proper, either. Just stopped going."

"So you've binned a shit job. That doesn't mean anything," Stuart said.

"Shut your face, you want me to come. Might as well admit it." The moment he said it, Vince knew it was the truth.

Still, as confident as he was, he found himself holding his breath, waiting for Stuart's answer.

"No passengers, Vince," he said finally, and Vince's heart slammed against his chest. "You let me down and I'll _kill_ you."

"Not if I kill you first," Vince promised, nearly giddy. "So what are we waiting for?"

They grinned daftly at each other for a moment, and without another word, Stuart unlocked the door.

 

**Epilogue**

_The future (or, possibly, the past)_

Vince squirmed as Stuart sank his teeth into the meaty flesh of his thigh.

"You're like a bloody cannibal," he said, laughing as Stuart lapped his tongue over the red spot he'd bitten.

"Got to do something while I wait for you to catch back up."

"Hey, come off it," Vince said. "Not all of us can be aliens instantly ready for another round."

"Such a shame, too," Stuart said. The flat of his tongue found the sensitive, sweaty skin where Vince's thigh met his body, and Vince felt his cock twitch. "Oh, finally. Took you long enough."

Vince groaned when Stuart trailed fingertips over his cockhead. Sucking in a deep breath, he said, "Why don't you have a wank if you're just going to complain about everything?"

"Could do," Stuart said. "Watching me have a wank. Bet that'd really get you going, wouldn't it?"

Vince's breathing sped up at that image and Stuart grinned slyly. "Yeah, it would."

Stuart's hand fisted his cock lightly while his other one skimmed over Vince's lip, pausing to investigate.

"Where did you get this?" He ran a single finger over the thin, barely visible scar on the corner of Vince's mouth.

Vince sighed and rubbed his eyes. "That's a weird story, actually. It was year ten. I got jumped by a group of boys I went to school with. They meant to kill me, I swear it. But then, out of nowhere, some bloke showed up carrying this gigantic gun..."

He trailed off, a faint tremor starting beneath his skin, and slowly turned to stare at Stuart's gun sitting on top of the bedside table. His eyes widened and his cock surged to full hardness in Stuart's hand.

"Oh my _god_!" he cried.

"Well," Stuart said, looking smug and amused and completely beautiful, "good job letting me know where we're going next."

 

 

 


End file.
